Page 48 of A Pack for the Wedding
Maren looks at me for a beat, eyes narrowing just a fraction. Before she can say anything, a waitress appears, a young beta with a French braid and a pretty smile, and sets down two iced iced lattes with a cheerful "Here you go, ladies."
"Thanks," I say, wrapping my hands around the cup. "And thank you for ordering for me," I tell Maren, who's still watching me.
The waitress leaves. Maren takes a sip of her latte. Sets it down. Then she leans forward slightly, lowers her voice, and says, "Beth. I have to ask... Are you sleeping with your pack?"
I'd just brought my straw to my lips, and I inhale latte directly into my sinuses. I turn my head and cough into my elbow, eyes watering, while Maren sits there like she just asked me to pass the sugar.
"Maren."
"Sorry." She leans back, both palms raised slightly. "I didn't mean to rattle you. I'm asking as a friend."
"I'm not sleeping with anyone."
"Okay." She picks up her latte again, and I can tell she means it. Pushing's never been her style. She'd rather leave a door open and wait for me to walk through it on my own, which somehow always works.
I take another sip of my latte. Set it down.
"I kissed Mason," I say.
Maren blinks. Her lips part, just barely, but she catches herself and presses them back together. She doesn't interrupt.
"Last Saturday, after Harper's fitting session. He took me to this tea house he likes, and afterward we were in his truck, andhis ex texted him, and I just—" I gesture vaguely. "I grabbed his face and kissed him. In his truck. For a while."
"Define 'a while.'"
"Five minutes. Maybe more. I wasn't timing it."
She nods slowly. "And how was it?"
"That's not the point," I say, my cheeks flushing.
"So it was good."
I lean in close, dropping my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "It was… confusing. Because it shouldn't have happened. We're supposed to be faking this. The whole arrangement only works if nobody catches feelings, and I'm over here mauling the man in his F-150."
Maren picks up her drink. "Is that all?"
The way she says it tells me she already suspects it isn't.
"Knox took me out yesterday," I say. "Jet skiing. Then to a foot massage place. Then this hidden pond he found when he was sixteen." I stare into my latte for a beat. "And ended up basically scent-marking him... and then we kissed."
Maren had been doing an admirable job of keeping her face neutral through the Mason part, but this one breaks her. Her eyebrows shoot up before she can stop them, and I watch her physically try to rearrange her expression back into something composed. She doesn't quite get there.
"Both of them," she manages.
"Yep."
"In one week."
"Yep."
She exhales through her nose, slow and deliberate, and looks out the window like she needs a second. A woman walks by with a golden retriever that's trying to eat a fallen leaf. Maren watches the dog, and I can practically hear her choosing her next words.
She turns back to me. "What do you think that means?"
"It means I'm an idiot," I say.
"Come on, Beth."
